


take a deep breath

by toli-a (togina)



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Avengers era, M/M, Marijuana
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-01
Updated: 2016-03-01
Packaged: 2018-05-27 02:48:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6266494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/togina/pseuds/toli-a
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve doesn't miss the asthma. But sometimes he curls the smoke over his tongue and wishes that the cigarette was enough to help him breathe through the ache in his lungs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	take a deep breath

**Author's Note:**

> Stems from this prompt on tumblr: "steve's a soldier, yes? and soldiers i think got a pack of cigs with every meal (even w/ breakfast rations!), so everyone was smoking all the time. there were even asthma cigs for before. so, steve's likely not averse to lighting one up every now and then, yes? and so i wanted to prompt you with the avengers reacting to steve smoking in the future."
> 
> According to my research (eg, where I google “asthma cigarettes”), Steve probably would have smoked those, but since those didn’t contain tobacco, he probably wouldn’t have smoked regular tobacco cigarettes, because the nicotine would have acted like a trigger for his asthma. And sure, he could have started smoking after the serum, but I would imagine he had a pretty standard visceral reaction to the smell and taste of tobacco cigarettes as “immediately bad for my health” by then, and so the HC were probably thrilled to get Steve’s cigarette rations. But what was in the asthma cigarettes? Various nightshade herbs (which have atropine, which helps dilate airways) and sometimes cannabis. So given scent/taste associations, he probably would be willing to smoke weed.

2012: Steve lay on the balcony of Stark Tower, ankles crossed and one arm tucked behind his head, staring up at the wash of pale indigo and orange that was Manhattan’s midnight sky, a pale reflection of its bright lights.

He held the cigarette loosely in his other hand, tapping it to his lips and tasting paper and home, laying on the sofa at eleven years old and dragging smoke into his reluctant lungs. Sixteen and unable to inhale at all,  _ suffocating  _ and terrified - Bucky’s lips pressed to his, forcing the smoke into his closed throat and clenched lungs.

“Is that  _ weed _ ?” Stark screeched, looming over Steve and failing to block out the sky. “Pure as apple pie Captain America smokes weed?”

“Does he share?” Clint wondered, swinging off a ledge twenty feet above them and doing a graceful acrobatic tumble through the air and practically onto Steve’s feet.

Steve shrugged, and handed Barton the cigarette. Twenty years old, three asthma attacks in one cold day and hazy with it, the lack of oxygen and the aftereffects of so many cigarettes, his flushed face pressed to the scratchy fabric of Bucky’s shirt, every sense focused on the slender fingers running gently through Steve’s hair, smoothing along his scalp and sending shivers down his spine.

“What is this?” Thor boomed, shaking the whole balcony as he strode out to join them.

“Drugs!” Tony sniffed, folding his arms and looking disapproving, which Steve thought was strange on all counts. He had read Tony Stark’s file, and Howard had certainly never been against medicine that worked, no matter how risky it was or how untested.

Bruce showed up by Thor’s shoulder and said something too quiet for Steve to hear. “Ah!” Thor replied, comprehension dawning on his face. “This is one of your Earth rituals! Where is your sacred pipe?” Banner looked nonplussed for a moment, then shrugged and started trying to explain everything again, his manner so peaceful that it was impossible to believe he had been the Hulk only days before.

Twenty six, rolling an old asthma cigarette Bucky had traded for between his fingers, leaning against a tree trunk and watching his best friend exhale into perfect stillness, the only movement his finger on the trigger of his gun.

“Does this even do anything for you?” Romanoff asked, snatching the cigarette out of Barton’s hand and staring critically at it. She wouldn’t want it, Steve knew. Romanoff didn’t want anyone or anything close enough to compromise her.

Seventeen years old and loose from the cigarette, the paper damp against his chapped lips, Bucky’s eyes dark as his gaze dropped to Steve’s mouth, the taste of Bucky and smoke together on Steve’s tongue.

Steve sat up and pulled the cigarette from Natasha’s loose grip, rolling it between his finger and thumb, tasting the paper, the cannabis, the dried blood on a boy’s split lip, so many years ago. “Yeah,” he told her, and inhaled. “Yeah, it does.”


End file.
